“We’re gonna have to talk about exactly what you mean when you say don’t leave.” I slide to her side, twisting her into my arms perfectly so I can wrap one hand around her waist and slide my finger around her juicy clit and sink into her from behind at the same time.
She clamps down on her lip, eyes flickering open finally and landing all around the room, anywhere but me.
“Well,” she sighs as I stroke a little quicker, intentionally trying to fuck her breath away.
“Well?” I tweak her nipple, eliciting a sexy sigh.
“I guess in the moment, I’m caught up and thinking…” I’m rubbing her clit with renewed speed, sensing another impending orgasm taking over her body.
“Uh-huh…?” I fuck her a little deeper with my finger, stroke still faster.
“Well, if you keep doing that…” Her knees tremble, a new orgasm taking over her. “Is forever asking too much?”
I laugh, stroking her creamy skin and trailing kisses along her shoulders. “Exactly what I was thinking, sweet Savannah.” I place a kiss at the base of her neck. “I’m disappointed it took you so long to ask.”
Chapter Sixteen
Axel
There’s a pink ceramic mug on my counter that wasn’t here a week ago. “Read More, Kiss More” in loopy gold script. There’s a pair of fuzzy socks draped over the arm of my couch and an avalanche of romance paperbacks stacked beside my boots by the door. In the bathroom, a citrus-and-honey shampoo has staged a quiet coup against my sad two-in-one. And my favorite gray T-shirt—the one that fits like it was made for me—now fits like it was made for her and refuses to migrate back to my drawer.
We haven’t said she moved in.
We don’t have to.
Savannah pads into the kitchen wearing that stolen gray shirt and a pair of sleep shorts that should be illegal, hair in a messy knot, cheeks still warm from sleep. She yawns, opens a cupboard like she’s always known where everything lives, and reaches for her mug. I lean a shoulder on the doorframe and watch the morning claim her: the way she rises on her toes to grab the sugar, the way she hums without realizing it, the way her eyes find me and soften like the first sun on new snow.
“You’re staring,” she says, pouring coffee.
“I paid for this view,” I answer. “With ten years of penance.”
“Hmm.” She blows across the rim and takes a careful sip. “Penance accepted.”
The corner of my mouth tips. “So magnanimous.”
“You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you put my mugs on the second shelf instead of the top and that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
I cross to her. “That’s a low bar, Brooks.”
“Then raise it,” she says, chin lifting, mouth curving. “I dare you.”
I cage her against the counter with my palms, one on each side of her hips. Her lashes flutter, then steady. She doesn’t look away. She never does. For a beat the only sound is the coffee machine sighing and whatever’s pounding in my chest, insistent as a siren.
“Later,” I murmur against her temple, claiming a breath I shouldn’t. “After the station.”
Her hand fists in the hem of my shirt like she might anchor me there. “Promises, Ramirez.”
“Threats, Brooks.”
She hides a smile behind her mug and pushes past me with a sway of hips that feels like a crime scene. On the couch she tucks one leg under, curls around her coffee, and scans the morning sky through the window. Snow flurries skate the glass. Devil’s Peak is a cutout of blue-gray granite and cloud. The Phantom River glints a hard silver line behind the pines.
“Big day,” she says lightly.
“Nope.”
